87 Chapter 1 (1/2)

It may sound strange, but the smell of sex doesn't do it for me. The sweet, salty smell of raw, sweating bodies pressed against each other, the thick, musty scent of a woman in lust, or the permeating smell of spunk. These things were the result of sex, especially when the sex was good, but they weren't what elicited those feelings for me.

It also wasn't the view of sex either. Watching his erect dick slide deep into me, each thrust stretching my pussy open, the little amount of light reflecting off of his member, glimmering from the wet sex that coated his cock. My legs were spread open innocently, giving away all reservation as I submitted to his care. A muscular man on top of me, his hard biceps wrapped around my smaller arms, his hard chest pressed against my breasts, his eyes closed, his lips parted as he panted with each thrust, putting his best effort into pounding me good. Even this erotic sight wasn't truly what made me wet.

So, what was it? Was it the sounds? The wet slapping sound each time his long flesh slid into to my wetness? Or the ragged breath of his moans matched with the gentle gasps coming from my own lips, the unmistakable sounds of good sex. Perhaps it was the raw feeling of it all. The smooth way his dick entered deep inside, a hard, warm cylinder shaft of flesh inside me, stretching against my muscular walls, throbbing with engorged blood. My fingers working over my clit, growing wetter as he thrusted into me. His sweaty skin rubbing up and down against my sweaty skin. The feel of his bare chest against my bare chest. It was none of that.

No, the best part of sex, the part that aroused me the most, wasn't the smell, the feel, the sight, the sounds, or even the taste, when I inevitably planned to take his dick into my mouth, swallowing down gobs of hot steamy semen as his load released as many times as I could coerce it. The best part of sex was its execution.

It was in the form. The mechanics. The implementation. It was finding a man who was willing and ready. It was convincing him to pleasure me. It was taking his body and mine to the max, dragging out every ounce of his stamina and capabilities. In the end, it was about using him. Sucking him dry to satisfy my needs. It was about tricking him into satisfying my needs over his own. About putting him to work satisfying me with all of his efforts, and when the pair of us finally collapse in a pile of hot, sweaty flesh, knowing that for those few minutes, every single thought, motion, and feeling was done for me. For those few minutes that he thrusted into me, looked into my eyes, moaned my name, I was his world. I was his everything.

The point when his dick swelled, when his hot nectar shot inside me, gobs of thick, creamy semen being deposited deep in my womb, always left me a little conflicted. In one hand, it was the culmination of our efforts. It was the point where he lost all control, and left a piece of himself inside me. He was no more dedicated, no more focused on me than at that moment. Of course, immediately after, his dick would soften. The side walls of my own pussy would clamp together in the after effects of my own orgasm. The result would cause semen to spill out around his dick, little squirts, one at a time, each time my pussy tightened and released.

At that point, his floppy dick would fall out, and I'd feel wet gobs of sex running down my ass crack. The concentration on me would diminish. He'd flop to the side. His brain would start to kick back into motion. He'd realize what he'd done. Perhaps he would worry if he was too rough or too sloppy. He might worry if he had managed to make me cum. With my libido, it was rare if I didn't, but I didn't have to let him know that.

If it was a particularly good fuck, I would cup my pussy, holding it as I finish orgasming, feeling the seed run out of my womb. I'd contemplate what it would be like if I were to suddenly become pregnant. I was fertile now. Something I had spent my life never having considered was now a possibility. This man right here could have impregnated me.

Of course, I was religious about taking the herbs that prevented pregnancy. The herbs were readily available, but weren't considered magical at all. I had heard that in ancient Rome, there was a natural remedy that was so good at preventing pregnancy that the Romans used it to extinction. It looks like this world did not destroy theirs, and thus it was a rapidly growing industry.

It was demons who cultivated the herb. The irony of a fertility drug being sold by a species that came into being from monsters raping humans was not lost on the humans. It's why it was called the demon's herb and outlawed in most human territories. From the only remaining human country on the demon continent, it floods the black market, and has quickly become my drug of choice to remain pure.

Still, the success rate was likely not 100%. I could get pregnant, and in a world where condoms didn't exist, every time a guy came in me there was a chance. Is this how normal women lived? It's absolutely nerve wracking. To a small extent, the added danger makes it more arousing, but the slight edge to orgasms is overtaken by the hours of guilt I feel afterwards as I considered those little bastards swimming around inside me trying to violate my eggs.

”I should have swallowed.” I sighed, sticking my finger into my snatch and scooping, causing another gob of white stuff to slide down my butt crack, pooling under my ass.

”Huh?” the guy who was now lying next to me made a noncommittal noise.

Of course, he was already done. The moment was finished. The focus was off of me. Two minutes ago, if I had told him I wanted to swallow, he couldn't have pulled out and jammed his wet dick down my throat fast enough. Post coitus? He wasn't even listening now. I wondered if he cared if I got pregnant. Would he care for the child? Would he care for me?

I didn't use to have these kinds of stupid questions. What a state I had been reduced to, for a seductress to have to ponder about potential baby daddies. Perhaps I could get a special skill to take care of this dilemma, that is if I had gotten any other special skills since I hit level 30. Unfortunately, my class up was not forthcoming. Instead, I found myself perpetually locked at this level for months now.

Great, now I had put myself in a sour mood. Well, this guy was still here. There are some men who would have been out the door already. So, with the right motivation, I'm sure I could find something to get my mind off these dark thoughts.

I raised my butt away from wet sheets and then swung a leg so that I was straddling the guy's legs. I reached down and grabbed his dick, my hands immediately working up and down on it. My skills were explementary, but one of the prime things I had learned as my skills maxed was that true skill wasn't being able to do something the best. I could give him the best handjob of his life and have him cum in under a minute.

No, if you truly wanted to be skilled, it was about complete control. It was about using your hands to illicit the exact responses you want. It was about building it up, weakening his legs, making him focus on you, think about you, obsess about you. Someone good at handjobs can make a guy cum. Someone great and handjobs can make a guy hers.

He made a noise of surprise at first, but before the third stroke he had already leaned back, his dick springing back into action. That actually took some skill, I might add. Immediately after orgasming, if I attacked his dick too aggressively, it might backfire on me. To reignite his sexual desire without causing him to feel blueballed or overstimulated, that took skill.

Those skills started with my hands but quickly were taken over by my mouth. I could taste his seed, much of which was still on his dick, and I could taste my own lust too. I didn't really have much of an opinion about the taste of my own liquids. I won't be one of those people going around saying I taste like strawberries. However, I am a top-level seductress, and since I've come to this world, my body has changed.

My skin had become nearly flawless. My facial features were optimized. My body was redesigned to exude all things sex. This likely included my own sexual fluids. I made a lot of it when I became aroused. It was enough to easily accommodate even the most sudden of circumstances in this world without sex lubricant. I couldn't speak to the smell or taste, but I rarely met a man who wasn't happy to eat me out. Of course, if I did a position shift, it wasn't like they had a whole lot of choice, but whereas in my previous life I had several boyfriends who wouldn't go down on me, that was never a problem any more.

I continued to slobber on his cock, my fingers dancing over his balls with extreme skill and precision. He was letting out cute little moans, his eyes locked on me as I continued to bob my head up and down on his hard cock. I was just getting ready to hop back on his cock when the door behind me suddenly slammed open. My back was to the door, so only my lover could see who was behind me.

The look of horror on his face made my whole body turn cold. Then, he shoved my face to the side. I rolled over on the bed with the force. He was not gentle, but I made sure he got a little teeth so I considered the insult squared away. When I finally looked up at the door, it didn't take me long to realize what was going on.

The person standing in the door wasn't some city guards, some monster, or a knight. It was a woman. She was rather pretty, too. Her body didn't really possess much worth looking at, but she had nice hair and a cute nose. I'd fuck her, but her eyes weren't on me, they were on my lover. I rolled my eyes and then did an examine on him. Immediately after, I gave an annoyed tsk. I didn't like to examine people. It took something away from the experience. Although, this time it would have undoubtedly prevented this situation.

”You… cheater!” she shouted.

I gave a little sigh. In his status, it most definitely said that he was married. The woman he was married to must be her, Jeanette. Well, whatever world you lived in, there are men who would cheat. I met this particular guy in a bar. He never mentioned being attached. It's hardly my fault that he decided to move forward with his dick rather than his other senses.

Taking the covers with me, even though they had some rather obvious sex stains on them, I put them in front of my body and started to leave the room. She was shouting at him. It didn't really matter what. They always said the same things. How could you? I thought you loved me. How dare you do this to me. You bastard.

Meanwhile, the guy just pretended that he had no clue how he had gotten there. Like he accidently fell out of his clothing and landed dick first into another woman. Yeah, keep trying that guys, it'll work one of these days, I'm sure.

”And you…”

I was about half-way to door when the tone and direction of the voice changed. I grimaced as I looked up at the woman. I'd have preferred not to see her face at all. I wasn't good with this kind of thing. There is no polite way to say, hey, I just wanted sex, and your boyfriend met the requirements. No hard feelings? However, when my eyes met hers, I had to give sigh.

It was a look I was all too familiar with. It was the look that sent me to this world in the first place. This was the look of hatred. A look that blamed me, like I wasn't lied to as well. Why did I have to keep fucking guys who fucked crazy girls?

”Look. I'm sorry.” I started to futilely mount my case. ”Jeanette, I had no clue you were married until…”

”Who is Jeanette?” She screeched.

I turned to the guy I had been happily fucking a few minutes ago. He gave me surprised look. Yeah, he was probably wondering how I knew about Jeanette. This fucking guy. I'm not even the other woman. I'm the other other woman.